


Drawing Circles in the Sand

by twosidedcoin



Series: Geocentrism Theory [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Protective Dave, Protective Klaus Hargreeves, Protective Luther Hargreeves, Protective Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), These boys are soft for one another, To no one's surprise-more kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 11:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twosidedcoin/pseuds/twosidedcoin
Summary: Dave knew that if he never found Klaus then he’d have allowed the fears and pressure of society finally break him. That he’d convince himself that he was wrong for how he chose to love.And Dave knew that Klaus Hargreeves had saved him long before the Commission had.





	Drawing Circles in the Sand

_Spring 1966_

When asked, Dave says his first love was Charlotte Spicewood.

She’d been a tiny thing with pale skin and dark curly hair she always kept long, and she carried herself with the same air women did when they knew they were beautiful. She wore pink dresses and was a waitress at a diner downtown known for their pancakes. She liked all things ruffles and frills and he once saw her snap a guy’s wrist for calling her Charlie.

She had been Dave’s neighbor and, incidentally, best friend. It hadn’t been much longer after puberty struck and people suddenly became attractive that he realized his feelings for her suddenly weren’t platonic.

“Everything okay Dave?” she asked the day the letter came in, set a strawberry milkshake (Charlotte’s favorite so, Dave figured, was his too) topped with whipped cream and cherries in front of him.

He remembered blinking up at her–the single constant in his life–before shaking his head. He hadn’t even cared at how weak that had made him look to her. Not when he’d woken up this morning to his mom crying softly in the living room, letter crumbled in her long pale fingers.

Dave had only smiled, kissed her forehead and taken the letter from her. He stuffed it in his pocket and, after she’d fallen asleep, found himself at the diner Charlotte worked at. He unfolded the letter for her then and looked away.

It was common knowledge that Dave’s father was fighting the war. The letters–however sparse they were–still arriving in their mailbox. And, since they were the only ties to him, his mother had taken the habit of checking every day in hopes of hearing word from him.

“What’s this?” Charlotte asked, brow crinkling in concern.

Dave blinked, blue gaze focusing out the window. A woman with a long blonde ponytail jogged by, dog on a leash at her side. Across the street, he could make the butcher’s wife moving around the shop–having taken over after her husband had been drafted to the war.

Charlotte slid into the booth across from him, pale hand folded against her mouth as wide green eyes stared at the paper in horror. Dave didn’t blame her. He felt much the same whenever he looked at it himself.

“Your father–”

“Will live,” Dave finished for her, didn’t want to think of his usually strong father mangled and broken as he bent over to point at the words on the page, “He just won’t have his legs anymore.”

Because war was stupid and ugly and took everything good in this world, and it physically hurt Dave when he tried imagining his father getting hurt while he’d been safe in his bed upstairs because he hadn’t wanted to fight.

His father hadn’t either. He never said as much out loud because he’d always pretended that Dave was more important.

Charlotte still looked uncertain, green eyes continuing to stare at him–stare _through_ him.

She didn’t say it but Dave knew who she was thinking about–and it wasn’t Dave or his family. Charlotte didn’t bring him up, though, when she easily could have. Dave wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. She’d been in love with Spencer Lane since they were children and Dave would still tease her for liking boys so much.

 _Not boys_ , she’d corrected him, once. _Boy._

And it wasn’t that Dave didn’t like Spencer–he was one of the few true friends he had. It was because they were perfect–fairytale love that only existed for a select few in the real world. People who weren’t Dave. He wasn’t even sure they could see him when they were together.

They had always attempted to include him in everything they did, before Spencer left for the trenches, but he’d faded easily in the background. Everything that wasn’t each other fading into white noise and soon, Dave knew, they were going to leave him in favor of each other–the woman he loved and the brother he never had.

Then the war happened.

Dave sighed, didn’t want to be the cynic. He wanted to be bright and kind and optimistic–the person people had claimed he was before Charlotte and Spencer had gotten together.

Instead he reached out to fold his hands over the one Charlotte was still using to grip the letter. Her hand was small beneath his, and when their eyes met, he attempted to offer her a smile. It wavered but she didn’t call him out on it.

“Any word from Spencer?” he asked her.

Red lips pursed into a thin line as she pulled away from him. Allowed the letter to flutter on the sticky tabletop as she pressed her hands in her lap. A tear streaked down her cheek, making Dave’s chest twist painfully. He almost feared the worst.

“He’s alive,” she told his stark expression, “That’s all that matters.”

She climbed out from the booth. Dave didn’t try to stop her.

–

Dave had thought he’d mentally prepared himself for the condition his father was going to be in when he returned. Dave had been wrong.

He looked older–tan skin an ashy grey as dark eyelashes fluttered against his skin. He was dressed in the white shirt and jeans he’d wore when he left to fight, and as long as Dave kept his eyes upwards, he could almost convince himself that his father was still whole. That the way his jeans now folded in on themselves was just a trick of the imagination.

That his father still had legs.

Dave swallowed, too much of a coward to look down. His mother was sobbing in his dad’s chest, Dave’s father’s arm wrapped around her thin shoulders in an imitation of a consoling gesture. It was out of place, though. Something about it striking Dave as not being genuine.

“I’m glad to have you back,” Dave said.

His father grunted, said nothing. His mother continued to sob–soft broken sounds that made Dave’s chest ache.

Dave left.

He ended up in Charlotte’s bedroom, laid on her bed. Her long thin body pressed next to him as their synchronized breathing filled the space.

“Do you ever worry that Spencer will get jealous of you sharing your bed with another man?” he asked her.

She leaned up, hair tumbling over her shoulders so she could squint down at him. Her green eyes–normally ablaze with thought–stared down at him like she was privy of a secret he had no part of. Dave stared back.

Then, finally, she gave a low sad sigh as she shook her head, “I don’t love you that way David Katz. Spencer knows that.”

The words stung, unusually cruel for her. He sat up, glared down at her. Charlotte squared her shoulders and refused to shrink away.

“A lot can happen while he’s gone,” Dave snarled, knowing it was mean and didn’t care, “He was the one who left you.”

Green eyes flashed dangerously as she growled softly, “Stop talking Dave. Before I hit you.”

But Dave didn’t want to stop. He wanted her to hurt the same he had whenever she started dating Spencer. Whenever his father left and got his legs blown off, and none of this was fair. One large joke Dave had stopped thinking was funny.

“Why should I?” he challenged, “Spencer wasn’t there when you were six and fell off your bike. He hadn’t been the one to give you his sweatpants because you’d forgot you had gym class. He’s never loved you like I have.”

She slapped him, tears bright with unshed tears. His mouth clicked shut in shock. Charlotte was the first to turn away.

“I think you need to leave,” she told him softly.

“ _Charlotte._ ”

“ _Now_ Dave. I’m serious.”

Dave growled–feeling petty and spiteful as he climbed from her window. He didn’t go back to his house, and ended up at some nameless bar trying to forget the only love he’s ever known.

The next morning, he woke to the draft notice in their mailbox.

–

Dave didn’t tell anybody. He’d just packed his things and left. Charlotte still found him, caught his arm outside the recruitment building.

“Dave, _don’t_ ,” she begged and he didn’t look at her because her pity was so much worst than her anger, “Not because of our fight. Not because of _me_.”

He freed his arm and his voice was cold when he said, “This has nothing to do with you. It’s perhaps the first and last lottery I’ll ever win.”

His words made her pause before the implication of them sank in. She sank to her knees in a piercing wail, and he hadn’t even bothered to look back. She’d made it clear last night that she’d never been his anyways.

–

_Winter 1967_

Dave wrote his first letter to Charlotte Spicewood, lying in bed surrounded by soldiers’ snores and the cascade of bugs outside their tent, over a year after he’d left. He’d apologized for being a jerk, and for not writing before then and telling her that he hopes she could forgive him.

He didn’t mention the war or how eighteen-year-old Peter exploded the day before because he’d stepped on a landmine. He didn’t talk about Vietnam or how he’d never get rid of the smell of mud and shit and blood or how, sometimes, he could hear the other soldiers sobbing into their pillows.

He said he was sorry and signed the bottom then stared at it for a long time. Stared until a thin pale hand reached out, taking the letter from his shaking fingers as warm lips pressed in his temple. Klaus didn’t say anything–didn’t make any empty promises or reassurances–just opened himself for him.

Dave sank into his arms. His eyes twisted closed, tears slipping past, as he burrowed his nose into the crook of Klaus’s collarbone. He was always surprised by how thin Klaus was–more bone than anything else–but Klaus’s hold on him was firm and secure and soothing–and he held Dave as he thought of how he hurt the girl he’d once convinced himself he’d loved because he’d been angry.

He sent the letter off in the morning, eyes dry, as he realized he hadn’t mentioned Klaus in that letter either.

–

Loving Klaus was easier than it had been with Charlotte in ways that wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t Dave’s either, Klaus liked to remind him, and he didn’t even seem to mind that Dave’s first love had been with a woman.

It had taken several weeks of secret kisses and special dances before Dave pulled Klaus away and told him about her. Klaus didn’t look bothered, as he leaned back and gave Dave that smile that made Dave _weak_.

“I loved a woman,” Dave told him, confused on why Klaus wasn’t reacting out in violence or tears or anything except that soft accepting smile Dave wasn’t sure he deserved.

Klaus’s fingers danced across his arms; green eyes lidded. His lips were swollen from kissing and the beginnings of a hickey darkening against his pale neck, and Dave knew that tomorrow when Klaus tells the others it was a mosquito bite, he’d be tempted to push him against the closest solid surface and kiss him senseless.

Klaus’s breath was warm as he leaned in towards him to reclaim his lips and promise, “We’ve all loved women,” and it eased the sour sensation that as soon as Klaus realized that Dave wasn’t _quite gay_ because he had loved Charlotte that he was going to leave him.

And Klaus didn’t accuse him of being a coward or that his love of Charlotte had been because she had been safe and easy. He didn’t pull back and ask about the letters Dave still wrote her.

He just pressed his forehead against Dave’s and breathed, “And it’s okay that you still love her. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dave’s fingers squeezed at the words–like he expected Klaus to move away from him despite the reassurance. Klaus grinned, lips pressed into his forehead, as Dave breathed him in.

“Normal people can’t love two people at once,” Dave choked out in reminder, tears slipping over his burning skin.

Klaus kissed them from his skin as he said, “Then don’t be normal. Normal is _boring_.”

–

_Summer 1968_

Dave wasn’t sure when he started writing about Klaus but–one day–he realized that the last five letters he’d written Charlotte had been about Klaus. He liked to think that she’d like him–would have been impressed by his progressive mindset and of how he could bring a smile to all their faces without even trying.

It was the same day–Dave’s certain–that he realized that he was no longer hung on his feelings for her. He still loved her, of course, and knows that he’ll never stop loving her. She’d been his first love and that had made her special.

She also wasn’t his and was never meant to be. Not the way Klaus was, who made him feel things he never did with Charlotte.

Dave realized that he preferred vanilla over strawberry, and that waffles were better than pancakes. That dark red lipstick could look as good on men as it did women, and that Klaus was always full of surprises. He realized that first loves didn’t necessarily mean was destined to be the best–that the romance movies had it wrong. That love didn’t diminish with every broken heart.

Klaus taught him that, doing nothing except sleeping under his blanket on his cot, the warm feeling Dave felt untainted by his feelings he held towards Charlotte. It was easy because Klaus never acted like he was lesser because of it. Never looked at him like it was wrong for him to claim to love men and women, and that he should just _choose_.

Dave knew that if he never found Klaus then he’d have allowed the fears and pressure of society finally break him. That he’d convince himself that he was wrong for how he chose to love.

And Dave knew that Klaus Hargreeves had saved him long before the Commission had.

–

_Fall 1968_

Dave died.

When he came back, the first thing he’d thought of had been Klaus.

–

_Spring 2019_

Klaus was smiling. It was a good look for him.

It made his face look younger–green eyes glittering and bright–as he leant in for a kiss on his puckered lips. Dave happily obliged. He tasted of syrup and morning coffee and it had Dave curling towards him with a happy smile on his face.

He still remembered a time when he’d believed happiness was for other people. People who were normal and followed all of socities rules. _Boring_ , Klaus had called them but that must be easy to say for someone who’d been borne to stand out.

Then Klaus tilted his head to the side and proclaimed, “Relax Benny–boy. I’m getting there.”

Dave’s fingers tightened around Klaus as he remembered they weren’t alone. It made him wonder how many times they hadn’t been alone, and Klaus just hadn’t acknowledged the fact. Then Dave relaxed, had made the deal for the purpose of completing Klaus in ways Dave couldn’t alone.

He’d died, after all.

Klaus let him lean back but kept his fingers fisted in Dave’s shirt. His head was tipped to the side, eyes shining indicating he was listening to someone speaking.

“Nah. Dave didn’t kidnap me,” Klaus finally said. Then, shocked, “Five said what?”

Dave smirked. Klaus noticed and frowned up at him, but his eyes were still shining brightly and at one time Dave didn’t think anybody got more beautiful than Charlotte Spicewood. He’d been wrong.

“It seems,” Klaus started slowly, “that my dear brother is under the impression that the Commission said you had me holed away somewhere.”

Dave didn’t bother looking abashed at being caught. He didn’t offer an explanation either. Klaus hadn’t really been asking.

“I do own this building now,” Dave told him, still smirking, “and I’m a very creative man. I think I can find some very athletic ways to spend our time together.”

And Klaus wasn’t shy about who he was–it had been one of the things, Dave thinks, that drew him to him. When he’d been lost and confused about who he was and what his love meant, he’d found Klaus and Klaus had showed him his way back. Klaus also, Dave knew, wasn’t a virgin but at the implication and hard glint in Dave’s eyes a blush bloomed across pale skin.

“Oh _God_ ,” Klaus groaned, bending forward to press himself into Dave’s chest.

They haven’t slept with each other yet–a little preoccupied with Dave’s confused heart and the war–and Dave didn’t really want to sleep with Klaus because when Klaus spoke about it before it wasn’t with intimacy. It was with the knowledge of a person use to being treated like an object in bed, and Dave wanted to show Klaus that he wasn’t an object _before_ the sex.

That didn’t mean Dave couldn’t tease him, nibbled at Klaus’s earlobe because it made him _weak_ , and he ignored how completely Klaus fell apart at the slightest bit of attention. They had a long way, Dave knew, but Klaus had helped him at his worst. He could do this for Klaus.

“I’m fine,” Klaus whispered against his chest, fingers quivering as he clung to Dave’s shirt fabric, “Quit worrying so much.”

Dave kissed the spot behind Klaus’s ear before pulling back, ignoring Klaus’s soft whine.

“You’re not fine,” he reminded, “You were shot, and someone just tried to kill you.”

“Key word being _try_ ,” Klaus said, though Dave didn’t know if it was for him or his brother. Dave figured it didn’t matter–neither were impressed.

“Yes. I’m aware of how much of an incredible badass you are,” Dave promised, “but is that supposed to make me okay with another person wishing to do harm on you?”

Klaus pouted. “That’s not fair. One of you can’t even hear the other and yet you’re both ganging up on me.”

Dave’s face softened and though he’d suspected Klaus’s dead brother would side with him it was a relief knowing Klaus had someone who cared so much about him. He suspected Ben must feel the same about him.

Klaus pinched his cheek. “You’re even making the same faces. Stop it. I forbid it.”

Dave bent forward to capture Klaus’s mouth in his own before pulling back and agreed, “Sure. I can think of better things to be doing with my face anyways.”

The blush returned and Klaus–who was all confident strides and emotive hand gestures–ducked his head and rambled, “That’s–uh–Ben’s making a valid point–not that you can hear him, of course.”

Dave, not one for helping, trailed kisses along Klaus’s neck. Klaus didn’t push him back or tell him to stop. If anything, his fingers tightened in a silent plea for him to not stop–to never stop again. It didn’t seem to be making the words come out any easier though.

“Ben’s valid point is that– _maybe_ –we should hold off. The rest of my siblings are not aware of me being alive and– _you know_ –not dead. Or kidnapped. Or–”

“No,” Dave agreed, taking Klaus’s lips in his own, “Most definitely not any of those things.”

Klaus’s mouth parted; eyelashes dark against pale skin. His green eyes were wide and wanting and Dave figured this was about as far as he got before ripping his clothes off to feel loved in the most intimate way possible. Dave had to force himself to pull back.

“I’ll go change into something more presentable,” he offered.

Klaus’s eyes widened–pupils so blown they were practically black. He didn’t whine at Dave’s absence, but his fingers did subconsciously reach out for him.

“I had been joking about courting me,” he protested and then snapped, “No Ben. I _was_.”

Dave reclaimed one of Klaus’s hands in his own, brought it to his mouth so he could blow warm air against pale knuckles as he hummed. He didn’t say anything though. He thinks Klaus got it because he relaxed considerably.

They’d get there–hopefully–and when they did Klaus would know just how special he was. That it wasn’t an empty gesture meant to pass the time or offer a temporary distraction to a crappy life, and that was a thing they could both wait for.

Dave released Klaus’s hand and moved back towards the bedroom. Nothing had been touched–he’d left very specific instructions when he’d bought the place– and none of his clothes were really clean but he managed to find something at least presentable.

He returned to Klaus talking to seemingly nothing, “ _Attempted_ murder Ben. I’m fine. My shoulder doesn’t even hurt. _No._ I am not being more dismissive of your concern then I am with Dave’s. It’s just different. Ben _please_ –hey babe.”

Dave smiled, reached out to take Klaus’s hand in his own. Fingers curling in the empty space and filling it with himself as he bent over to plant a soft peck against his cheek.

“Hey to you too.”

They stopped there–suspended in that moment–until Klaus’s face puckered and he snapped, “Okay. Alright. Fine. We’re moving,” then towards Dave he rolled his eyes and muttered, sounding exasperated, “Ghosts are the worst buzzkills.”

Dave smiled–knew Klaus was excited at returning to his family and that he was hiding it behind annoyed irritation.

“Right,” he agreed.

–

In the beginning, Dave thinks he approached Klaus because he reminded him so much of Charlotte: pale skin, unruly dark curls. Green eyes that shone far brighter than any sun or supernova and could easily extinguish entire galaxies if they so choose. Perhaps he did but it quickly became clear that Klaus wasn’t anything like Charlotte.

For one, Klaus was interested.

Klaus also liked to talk, as if he was attempting to fill the empty space with his voice. _A defense mechanism_ , Dave knew, because Spencer had pointed it out on him once. The longer they spent with one another the less Klaus felt a need to speak but, sometimes, the nervous habit returned in full vigor.

It was part of the reason Dave wasn’t all that surprised when Klaus stopped them in front of a tall building, an umbrella that matched the one of Klaus’s forearm on each of the doors’ windows. Klaus words stuttered mid–sentence, wide eyes staring at the doors. They were clear, glass marbles trying to regain his courage.

Dave squeezed tighter, hoped he conveyed his support. Klaus just turned to him, voice wobbling like a small child afraid of not fitting in.

“What if they hate me for making them worry?” he asked, “I just left. I always just leave.”

“Whatever happens,” Dave whispered lowly as he leaned forward to press his forehead against Klaus’s, “we’ll face together. I’m not going anywhere–not anytime soon.”

Klaus’s face still wavered unsurely. “Promise?”

“I promise. You don’t have to be alone anymore Klaus.”

Klaus sucked in a deep breath–squared his shoulders and seemed to have mentally prepared himself for whatever he thought was going to happen. Dave remembered the frantic expression on his brother’s face when he’d thought of Dave being the one holding Klaus and prayed this wasn’t a mistake.

Before he could think himself out of it, Klaus moved forward. Long strides sure and purposeful and a very convincing imitation of confident. Dave followed behind him.

Five met them at the door.

There were no hellos or exclamations of relief. Five moved like a predator, forcibly inserting himself between Klaus and Dave with a knife pressed so tightly against Dave’s throat he wouldn’t be surprised if it drew blood. Dave allowed himself to be guided back and away from Klaus, wood of the door pressing into his back and eyes remaining calm.

“You must be a fool or an idiot for showing up here uninvited,” Five snarled, and Dave felt _really bad_ about giving him the wrong impression upon first meeting.

Mostly because Klaus was staring at them both with wide eyes, brain clicking in the wrong direction towards the wrong conclusion. He’s spent his whole life being rejected and just couldn’t be–at the moment–by his siblings.

So he said, “ _Klaus._ ”

Five spun, knife would have dug further into his throat because as professional as Five was he didn’t care what happened to Dave in that moment. Dave caught his wrist and pulled it back just enough so his skin remained unblemished.

Five’s grip tightened around the knife as he snapped, “Klaus. Run. Go. I’ll hold him off.”

It seems they were coming back to Dave being a kidnapping rapist that had targeted Klaus. Dave didn’t correct him but caught Klaus’s wild gaze and offered a soft supportive smile that alleviated some of Klaus’s panic from his shoulders.

“It’s not like that,” Klaus promised, moved to step forward but was stopped by a hand catching his elbow and jerking him behind a tall broad–shouldered figure with icy blue eyes.

 _Luther_ , Dave recognized.

“It’s okay,” Luther told him–soft voice a stark contrast to the hard glint in his eyes, “Go find the others. You’re safe now. We’ll deal with this.”

Dave snorted, unimpressed. Klaus still looked equal parts worried and uncertain and Dave figured it was probably the first time any of his siblings have reacted protectively towards him.

“Look,” he said, “I think before you do anything you’ll regret later, we should sit down and have a civil conversation.”

“You think I’ll regret hurting you?” Five challenged, and Dave matched the craze look in his eyes with a sharp smile of his own.

“I can assure you; you wouldn’t be the one doing the hurting.”

Five met the threat head-on–squaring his shoulders and announced, “You think you can beat me?” and perhaps a part of Dave wanted to avenge all those years these people pretended like Klaus was nothing but a burden and a bother.

“Five. Luther. _Wait_ ,” Klaus–bless him–tried.

Five moved.

Dave had been anticipating it, not to mention he’s also been trained by the Commission. He could see all the tales.

He caught the fist the youth swung at him, other hand still holding onto the hand with the knife. He twisted, turned the smaller body around as he ducked low and jerked Five over his shoulder in one fluid movement. Five hit the ground hard, knife now in Dave’s hand as he rose to a dangerous crouch.

Klaus blinked at him in shock, mouth open. He didn’t look as if he approved so Dave forced himself to take a calming breath.

“I don’t want to hurt either of you,” Dave said, had to duck back when Luther took a lunge at him, “I didn’t come here to fight.”

The door pressed back into his spine, cornering him by Klaus’s brothers. He supposed he could have opened the door and slipped out, leaving Klaus to explain himself and face his siblings alone. That wasn’t really an option.

Instead he ducked another one of Luther’s punches–a bit wide, leaving him vulnerable–and Dave hit his weak spot on his way up. Luther grunted, not used to the one being struck, and Dave took the opportunity to dance away.

Something _whooshed_ by his ear, peripheral overcome by blue. He stepped left. The strike Five would have landed struck empty space and caused him to stumble. Dave caught the back of his uniform and straightened him back on his feet with the hand that didn’t hold the knife.

Klaus probably wouldn’t forgive him if he accidently stabbed one of his siblings.

By the door, Luther had recovered and moved towards them. Klaus was quicker. He stepped between Dave and the looming threat, muscles a tense bundle of nerves, as he shouted at them to stop. Luther did, eyeing Dave in warning.

Dave grinned darkly back.

“Klaus. _Move_ ,” Luther begged, but Klaus stubbornly shook his head–Dave’s hero.

“I won’t,” Klaus proclaimed firmly, “I’m not letting you and Five needlessly attack my boyfriend.”

Dave’s insides grew warm at the words: _my boyfriend_. Luther’s eyes bulged, and Five tensed but they both stilled. Improvement. Then–together–they exclaimed:

“ _Boyfriend?_ ”

“ _Needlessly?_ ”

–

The silence was killing Klaus if the way his fingers curled tightly into Dave’s hand was any indication. Dave squeezed back, renewing his silent promise of never leaving him alone.

All five of Klaus’s living siblings were set in the living room. Dave was easily able to discern who was who from all the times he’s spent staring into Klaus’s drawings of them. He couldn’t see Ben but knew he must have been around.

Klaus had returned with a boyfriend after all.

Diego–eyes darker than the ones Klaus draws him with–didn’t look entirely convinced as he said, “I thought Dave was dead.”

Klaus stiffened, lost in memory of a time Dave didn’t really remember. Dave’s hold on him tightened in reminder that he was alive and there and not going anywhere.

He kept his face relaxed and voice sure when he answered, “News of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

Klaus stifled a sob. Dave’s thumb rubbed soothly at the soft crevice between his thumb and fingers. He knew what it was like–catching the person you love after they got shot. Watching helplessly as they crumpled limply in your arms, eyes turning foggy from pain.

“The Commission saved him,” Klaus announced at his siblings’ skeptical looks, “I don’t know why.”

“Nothing good,” Five noted, looking at him a little less homicidal than before so Dave figured they were making progress.

At least none of them were accusing him of kidnapping Klaus anymore. Klaus’s back straightened at his brother’s words.

“I don’t care _why_ they did it. I only care about him,” Klaus told him firmly, and Dave didn’t try hiding the sappy expression the words gave him.

Allison was the one who groaned and announced, “I never imagined I’d live to see Klaus smitten with someone so much. Nor that they’d ever feel the same.”

“Yeah. Well,” Dave told her evenly, “I had to travel to hell to find myself an angel.”

That got three of the five Hargreeves to groan. Klaus melted under the praise, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Dave’s wrist as he blinked up at him with wide green eyes. Dave smiled back.

“So just that we’re all on the same page,” Vanya spoke up, “We’re okay with this, right? Klaus dating someone who just beat Luther and Five in the foyer.”

“He did _not_ beat us,” Five declared instantly as Luther protested, “He caught us off-guard is all. It won’t happen again.”

“You two had him cornered and had the advantage of surprise. What do you mean he caught you off-guard?” Diego demanded before the others broke out into an argument over something that didn’t really matter.

Klaus melted as the familiar bickering took place. He smiled, soft and relieved, as he realized that his siblings weren’t mad that he’d run off to heal with his savior for the last couple of weeks. Dave gave him the best ‘told–you–so’ look he could muster.

And because he never had siblings and that he was still holding the most important thing he’s ever known in his life he turned towards them and announced, “I’m always down for a rematch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to shout at me in the comments. I'm very shout friendly.


End file.
